


A Punch for Luck

by AT-Lo (HauntingHex)



Category: Hajime no Ippo | Fighting Spirit, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Kuroko no Basuke Extra Game, M/M, Polyamory, Size Difference, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, nobody asked for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntingHex/pseuds/AT-Lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding an injured man in an alleyway was the least of Ippo's problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Cosmos

A white outline of a fishing boat puttered closer to the shoals, parallel to the harbor. Behind them the image of the sun plunged into the rolling waves of the ocean. Seafoam clashed against the hull a foretelling that the evening would bring higher tides and tumultuous currents. The boat was secured to the dock before a trio of men walked onto the wooden platform, each carried a stockpile of fish iced in coolers.   

“Ippo, we’ll see you on Monday. Today’s catch was good,” said by the middle-aged man that wore a green vest. “And send our regards to your mother.” A synchronized bow was their final gesture. A dutiful sign of respect to aid his mother’s wellbeing. Ippo struggled to return their sincerity. A forlorn tightness settled on his cheeks when he smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell her. See you later.”

After they retreated from his peripheral vision, Ippo finished unloading the remaining coolers. Ones without fish were emptied and cleaned. The ship’s deck was hosed down. An awkward dance with a mop absorbed most of the residual liquid. The rest was left to evaporate naturally overnight. Ippo double checked the anchor before he carried precariously stacked coolers of the day’s catch back to his residence. He whispered, “I’m home” despite knowing his mother still resided at the local hospital. The fish was cleaned, gutted, and cut then packaged in sheer plastic. He stocked the freezer then slipped his worn running shoes back on. Too exhausted to commit to his regimented training schedule, Ippo’s stubbornness overruled a full evasion of his responsibilities. Neglecting roadwork for a day equated at the very least to the practice of chopping wood. Unlike Nekota who lived in the mountains, chopping wood wasn’t a necessity in the city. He resorted to a similar exercise that emulated the overhead motion by smashing a wooden mallet on a discarded tire.

The motions were mechanical. A bit of respite from the chaotic thoughts that churned in his mind, a slow torment that amplified the longer it was allowed to stew at the forefront. He was worried about everything. The bills, the fishing business, his mother’s health, and his boxing career. He knew his body could be pushed to its limits. It wasn’t a fear that muscle or bone had the chance to break under constant pressure. Ippo garnered his fair share of injuries during official fights, some were even acquired during routine spars with protective gear on. It was the fear that his body and mind could wither, a prolonged decay that could not be reversed or repaired. That it may be inevitable for him to quit professional boxing. When Ippo trained for an upcoming title match the pain, the exhaustion meant he worked towards a clearly defined goal. It was to shape his body to face an opponent on an equal playing field as a showcase of his pride as the defending featherweight champion. His memories preserved the deafening rumble of the crowd as they cheered or gasped at a fight’s turning point. How the blinding lights bore down on the ring so every drop of sweat and blood could be captured by the viewers.

Ippo wanted to strive further even beyond Japan. All this time hadn’t he promised Miyata that they would face each other on the world stage? There were more pressing issues now. Should he give up the title? A solemn sigh echoed his inner turmoil. The rhythmic smash of the mallet did not prevent the worries that gnawed at his gut from meandering back into the crevices of his mind like a ravenous parasite.

He lifted the tire behind the house and trudged back inside. The mallet was left in the shed. He remembered to turn off the lights in the living room, then trailed towards the bathroom. He stripped off his plain white work shirt, kicked off his jeans, and the last of his socks.

He scrubbed the tough planes of his body. Washed his unruly hair enough it clung to his temples like ink on a page when he tipped the basin of water over his head. His calloused fingers skirted the outline of a three pointed crown emblem. A mark etched onto his inner left thigh arose when he was two years old, the sign that his supposed soulmate was born. His mother had lost her mark when his father died.

“A sea bream amongst the waves,” is what she said it looked like before it dissipated from her skin.

Society and media alike emphasized the concept of true love between soulmates. Ippo understood that before the incident his parents were happy and healthy together. A picturesque definition of the very idea. The death of his father lingered, a dark cloud that refused to disappear. His mother was never the same. She did her best to raise him while also working in the family’s fishing business, but he knew it pained her every time she gazed upon the picture of her late husband with Ippo (as a child) draped across his shoulders. His father’s fishing cap too large for his head at the time almost covered his eyes.

Health class advised on an accurate depiction of soulmates. Unlike popular magazines that listed regurgitated articles of the same trite explanations where individuals described meeting their soulmates: a string of heart palpitations, sweaty palms, a flushed heat that concluded they met “the one,” which became showcased in romanticized media that ranged from TV shows to movies.

It was true that both (or more) parties had to touch in order to confirm that they were soulmates. Shared markers were secondary confirmations since recent cases revealed individuals faked the mark by tattooing copies onto their skin. Ippo never grasped his teachers’s loose descriptions of his conscious simply “knowing” the moment they touched. It was terrifying that he could be mistaken or that some people swindled others by pretending to possess a matching mark. 

There were massive conventions where individuals shook hands in hopes of finding their soulmate(s). It was certainly uncommon, however not entirely unheard of that people fell in love or pursued relations with individuals other than their soulmate.

Some of his peers brandished their marks for everyone to see, while Ippo was indefinitely modest. When Takamura snatched the towel around his waist that one time in the gym’s locker room he hid the mark from their salacious line of sight.

Aoki was lucky. His frog shaped mark was printed on his bicep that was difficult to hide during official matches. It was how the rowdiest member of their odd ball gym found his soulmate, Tomiko, a nurse at the nearby hospital.

Ippo submerged himself in the hot water. He rested his chin on the porcelain edge. His muscles relaxed without the strain of manual labour.

Eyes fluttered open at several barks behind the bathroom door. Wanpo must have finally roused from sleep to greet him. A series of sniffles accompanied by paws clambering at the wood compelled Ippo to drain the bath. He silently thanked the interruption, otherwise he might have fallen asleep in the lukewarm water.

“Wanpo. I’ll be out in a second.”

He grabbed a towel from one of the bars. Ippo quickly dried the stray droplets. A simple pair of matching grey sweats and shirt for sleeping were adorned. He avoided the mirror above the sink while he brushed his teeth. He imagined his appearance wasn’t ideal, sunken bags underneath his eyes from sleepless nights. A sallow pallor from his lack of appetite. When he opened the door, Wanpo bulldozed through. His sheer size and strength enough to unceremoniously push Ippo on the floor.

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, “Wanpo enough, enough.” His dog nuzzled his chest, pleading eyes begged for pets which Ippo supplied. A brief moment of elation was broken when Ippo gave the last pat on Wanpo’s head.

“I have to go to sleep now, buddy. I know you don’t like being cooped up here, so I’ll take you to the gym in the morning.”

Wanpo whined but understood the general emotion that Ippo was not willing to play at this hour. Wanpo trotted back to his kennel.

Ippo spread out his futon. His sleeping arrangements were made, his mental checklist ticked and satisfied with its daily completion of tasks, he turned off the lights then slipped underneath the covers. Half an hour of staring blankly at the ceiling signaled he was probably not going to succumb to sleep any time soon.

Ippo’s hand ghosted underneath his shirt. His stomach rippled at the light touch. A minute of teasing brewed adequate confidence to pull his sweatpants lower around his knees. His fingers snaked closer to his flaccid cock. There was no trace of arousal, no image he could summon of a significant other so Ippo reluctantly retracted his wandering hand to curl deeper into the duvet covering. More so than sexual release he desired intimacy. During high school he was too busy trying to blend in with his peers. Ducking away from the attention of bullies seemed to have the opposite effect since he was sequestered as their errand boy. His grades were decent, but ultimately he chose boxing over further education. Boxing always on the brain meant there wasn’t much room for anything else besides his family and the business. He imagined another braced around him, their arms protectively encased him against their chest, while their legs intertwined to enjoy each other’s warmth. He fell asleep feeling safe.

-

Sun filtered through the blinds. The light edged Ippo from slumber. He blinked, already in a better mood than yesterday. He fixed his futon and pulled out a comfortable set of clothes. A Kamogawa Gym sweater with matching pants.

Ippo prepared two bento boxes. Nothing too extravagant as he scooped similar amounts of rice to each plastic case. Rummaging through the cupboards, Wanpo bounded into the kitchen at the sound of pots and pans.

“Morning Wanpo.” Wanpo rubbed his nose onto the leg of Ippo’s pants then steered toward his food bowl. For a large dog Wanpo ate at a leisurely pace. Ippo placed a pan on the stove, turned on the heat and searched the fridge for defrosted fish. He added some oil to the pan then proceeded to fry enough fish for both lunch boxes. He properly disposed of the oil and cleaned the dishes, before taking Wanpo to the Kamogawa Gym.

“Ippo! Are you coming back to training?” Aoki yelled while wrapping his fists with bandages.

Ippo shied away at the suggestion, a nervous hand scratched the back of his neck. “Not yet. I don’t have a fight lined up. I’m dropping off Wanpo. Can he join the both of you during roadwork?”

Kimura shrugged, “Of course. You’re off to see your mother right? We’ll take care of Wanpo today.”

He bowed. Ippo trusted his gym mates to support him at this time. The hospital was an expected sterile environment. Clean, white painted walls, differently coloured dotted lines decorated on the tiles to guide individuals to separate departments. Ippo gave a subtle nod to the receptionist. She mirrored the gesture despite talking animatedly with another patient over the phone.

Ippo took the left corridor, the route to room 34B was unfortunately memorized. He opened the door. His mother was seated upright, she faced the window to gaze at the skyline of the city. “Mom, have you eaten already? I brought lunch.”

“Ippo, how was work? It must be a lot to juggle the business and your training,” she said in lighthearted tone, a hint of worry laced the sharpness of every syllable. Her eyes were no longer sunken. The weight she had lost from a lack of an appetite was mostly regained. The nurse hinted to Ippo that she barely ate any of the hospital food. Ippo had an inkling that it wasn’t so much the bland taste or the food, but rather she preferred Ippo’s company during meal times.

He sat in the nearest chair and unpacked the bento boxes. “Does your back hurt?”

“No, no. It’s a lot better now. I can probably return home in a few days.”

“I’m glad. Wanpo and I miss you. And the local customers do too. They send their regards.”

They ate together, discussed pleasantries from the weather to the price of rising costs of meat at the supermarket. Ippo couldn’t bear to tell his mother that he was caught in an internal turmoil. He loved boxing, but not at the cost of his mother’s health.

-

“Wanpo didn’t give you guys any trouble?”

Kimura threw a small face towel over his shoulder. They were about to wrap up for today. “He’s an angel as much as he is a little devil. But no problems, Ippo.”

Takamura ducked under the ropes to exit the ring. A grim line marred his features. The obnoxious timbre of Takamura’s voice resonated with every jab to the nearest punching bag. The middleweight champion didn’t even take a second to gaze at Ippo. “If you aren’t training, you aren’t welcome here.”

To Ippo’s right Kimura and Aoki winced. Takamura was always unabashed with his point of view and his honesty and strength was what attracted Ippo to the sport. To an outsider of Kamogawa Gym Takamura was an uncouth, confrontational champion. Ippo took the hint and bid his gym mates “goodnight”, while Wanpo followed him out the door.

Takamura was worried in his own way, his remark veiled some advice. Ippo needed to make a choice soon. His coach and Yagi, the gym’s manager were overseas to seek out possible opponents for them. The winnings from his title match could pay for the hospital bill, however it would entail weeks of training. They couldn’t really afford to pay another employee so the work would fall onto his mother’s shoulders again.

Wanpo was usually obedient to walk or run without a leash. When Wanpo barked across the fairly empty street, Ippo crouched next to the fluffy beast. A squirrel skittered up the wide trunk of a tree.

“Come on, we’re almost home Wanpo.” He gently tugged at the red collar to lead him back to the sidewalk. The distraction was no longer in sight so Wanpo hurried ahead onto the proper path. They rounded the end of the street corner, Ippo’s home was approximately several blocks away. As they neared a convenience store Ippo debated whether or not to grab a quick, easy meal. It was the early evening and his mind fretted between training and cleaning their living space instead of cooking dinner. Wanpo nosed at the trash bags in the slanted alleyway. Paws pushed down on the plastic in order for Wanpo to scale past the makeshift mountain.

Ippo followed immediately, his patience waning at his dog’s behaviour. “Wanpo. Wanpo.” An audible shuffle of movement against the pavement led Ippo to believe there was a stray cat or raccoon that drew his dog’s attention. The stench of garbage was tolerable, but Ippo wept at the thought that Wanpo might require a bath by the time they got home. The white-haired dog sniffed behind a trashcan. A brown shoe peeked from behind the mess. Ippo wanted to run, but Wanpo gnawed at the leather shoe that was still attached to a pant leg. His footsteps scraped on the cement. A man with wild orange hair groaned. His gaudy wrinkled white suit seeped with red around the right shoulder.

Yakuza. It had to be. Beady eyes, lips pulled into a pained frown locked onto Ippo’s short stature. The boy almost squeaked at the intimidating stare.

He stuttered in a rushed voice, “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No,” was the curt response. The wounded man staggered to sit up with his back framed against the brick wall. A bloodied hand clenched at the fabric of his suit.

Ippo wanted to leave. Getting involved would only put his family at risk. The man knew his face, although boxing wasn’t as popular nowadays Ippo was the featherweight champion. It wouldn’t take much to pinpoint where he lived.

And the man was dying. Assumptions that the stranger was possibly a very terrible man demanded Ippo be cautious. Call an ambulance and the man would live, however it was against the man’s wishes since the police would get involved.

“Wanpo, stop biting his shoe.” The mutt backed off to sit at Ippo’s feet. The stranger’s eyes were shut. In the time Ippo spent contemplating the other had slipped into unconsciousness.

Ippo couldn’t wrestle the taller man over his shoulder so he carried the dead weight with an arm around his waist. The man’s feet dragged on the pavement. When Ippo gazed intently, both ways into the open street he almost sighed from the relief that it was empty. Ippo rested the man’s bulk on the wall in order to fish his keys from his pocket. He carried the man inside and placed him on the bathroom floor.

He boxed Wanpo outside the bathroom door to give themselves some space. From the blood, Ippo deduced that there was at least one injury on the shoulder. He unbuttoned the man’s white coat, left it to hang in the tub. He did the same to the button down dress shirt. Ippo retrieved a wash cloth, soaked it in cold water to wipe away some of the congealed blood. A deep cut spanned from his right shoulder to his armpit. Ippo did not recall any sort of weapon at the scene so the man must have ducked into the alley to hide from his pursuer.

Ippo dabbed alcohol onto cotton to disinfect the wound. Sometimes there were injuries on the boat so they kept two first aid kits. Ippo sorted through its contents to retrieve a sterile needle and thread. His mother had always been the one to patch him up. His hands shook, a sign of his lack of confidence. The needle pricked the skin. The man did not retaliate even in his sleep so Ippo continued to stitch the injury closed. The work was shoddy, a mess of jagged lines without any semblance of equal intervals. At least the bleeding was minimized. Ippo pressed gauze to the injury while he struggled to wrap bandages with his free hand.

Although he was afraid to move the man, it was necessary. Ippo fathomed that resting in a cramped bathroom on cold tiles encouraged muscle aches to accompany the man’s terrible mood.

Carefully he brought the good arm around his shoulder and repeated the motions to drag the man into his room where he lay him on his futon. A part of him was grateful that the stranger was a deep sleeper, however Ippo watched the rise and fall of the man’s chest to confirm that he was indeed - still alive.

Wanpo must have sensed Ippo’s unease. The dog curled in the corner of his room to guard the stranger. Ippo returned to the bathroom to clean up the blood. He threw the shirt, jacket, and washcloth into the washer.

Although Aoki and Kimura were never directly involved with the yakuza they raised hell as young delinquents. Takamura often picked fights, but as far as Ippo knew if Kimura and Aoki hadn’t found boxing they might have ended up on the wrong side of the law. Ippo overlooked Aoki on his contact list. He didn’t know if Tomiko knew of his past at all so he dialed up Kimura instead.

“Ippo? What’s up kiddo?”

He resisted the urge to counter the statement. Kimura was only a few years older. “Uh are you busy right now?”

There was some movement on the other end of the line. “You want to party on a weekday or something?”

“What? No. I don’t know how to explain this without you freaking out – I’m freaking out,”

Kimura chuckled, “Do you need me to help bury a body?”

_This isn’t the time to be cracking jokes!_

“Kimura, someone got stabbed.”

“What the hell kiddo? You should be calling an ambulance instead.”

“No! I mean, I can’t. The guy said not to and he’s some scary yakuza. If he isn’t then he has some poor sense of style.” By the end of Ippo’s explanation he incrementally lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Where are you? I’ll be right over.”

“I’m at home.”

There was no room for goodbyes since Kimura abruptly ended the call. Ippo resorted to food preparation while he waited on his friend’s arrival. He slipped on a blue frilled apron. The injured man might be hungry later on so he prepared a meal for his supposed guest.

Several knocks on the door alerted Ippo as he was in the middle of chopping onions. He placed the knife on the cutting board and wiped his hands on the fabric of his apron.

When he opened the door, Kimura invited himself inside. He tossed his motorcycle helmet onto the nearest couch and shrugged off his leather jacket.

“Where is he?”

“Sleeping in my room,” Ippo said as he directed Kimura to the small bedroom.

“The stove is still on –“

Kimura comforted his friend with a solid pat on Ippo’s head. “Don’t worry, just leave him to me. You can keep cooking.”

Ippo’s furrowed brows gave away his hesitance to leave Kimura alone, however the internal battle was brief enough that Ippo nodded to the outboxer and returned to the kitchen. Ippo expected that eating would be chore for the injured man so he decided to make an assortment of vegetable soup.

Kimura knew Ippo was good-natured and helpful. This stranger most likely did not deserve Ippo’s kindness and yet, Kimura accepted that Ippo was not one to turn away if someone was in trouble. The man lay on top of the blanket, the bandages around the right shoulder denoted that Ippo addressed the stab wound. Some areas of the man’s well-defined chest began to bruise, a sickly purple colour blemished his skin.

The young copper-haired man still wore his dirty slacks and shoes. Kimura’s eyes scanned for an identifying tattoo that displayed the man’s affiliation. He kneeled on the man’s right. He placed a hand on the man’s bicep and cursed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” _His soulmate was some yakuza brat_. His hands shook, a tremor that reached the base of his spine. He slowly turned the man on his side to inspect his back. More bruises the size of a man’s fist and a white cosmos flower mark on the man’s left shoulder blade. It was true then. The injured man grunted, possibly from Kimura’s touch. He returned the man so he rested on his back. Kimura was about to stand and head to the kitchen to tell Ippo the news when a solid grip clenched around his wrist.

Reflexively, Kimura tried to pull back. The copper-haired man was awake. Kimura shied from his piercing stare. The hand that held his wrist didn’t slacken, not even when Ippo shuffled into the room carrying three bowls of hot soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was appalled that there weren't a lot of Hajime No Ippo fics on ao3. The time period is contemporary where boxing isn't as popular. Ippo is 24, Kimura is 26 and the members of Kirisaki Daichi are 22-23.


	2. Puzzle

“Have you heard from Hiroshi?”

“’Fraid not,”

A man in a pristine navy suit sat in the only chair available within the walls of the dilapidated warehouse. Abandoned almost a decade ago with the silent retreat of the manufacturing boom the land was bought by one of the many shell companies the Daiichi possessed.

“This isn’t your lucky day,” a blindfolded individual sat on the cement flooring that previously was filled to the brim with pallets stacked with manufactured goods meant for international waters. Any working equipment was sold, the other machinery was salvaged for recycled materials. Other than the chair and the people that occupied the space the main floor was bare, however dusty. The windows were covered with newspaper to prevent curious trespassers from peering inside. The blindfolded man whimpered into the cloth that gagged him. His arms were bound behind his back. His legs were free, but he continued to kneel. The strength in his limbs slowly withered at the coercive force that he knew they were capable of. “Cockroaches deserve to be crushed, don’t you think so Kojiro?”

The listless Kojiro was plain with short brown hair without any eccentric tattoos or defining scars. If anything he always sported a rather bored expression. A dull, pragmatic stare rarely exposed his inhibitions. Kojiro left his boss’s side and stepped closer to the captured grunt. Wetness seeped from the fabric around his eyes.

“I don’t appreciate Jabberwock selling drugs, cut with laxatives in my territory. But I’m feeling very gracious today.” The man in the navy suit stood up. He neared the victim and patted his wet cheek with a bare hand. “You’re going to send them a message for me.”

“But boss –“

“Itsuki drop the tired little cockroach off.” The man was dragged, albeit not gently across the floor since he could not muster up the strength to walk.

“If Hiroshi were dead we’d know. He’s probably recuperating somewhere.” Seto said. It was a rare occasion where the genius was awake. Normally, he couldn’t be bothered. The last of the group settled his arms, bent behind his head. He blew a pink coloured bubble from chewed gum. A dyed purple fringe masked most of his eyes from view. “Sending him back without breaking a bone? Should we be worried Makoto?”

Their boss curled a finger through his dark locks before he pulled his hand back to cup his chin. “They’re so terrifyingly boring, Kazuya. They’re brutish, especially their leader. Causing problems with the public has forced the police to perform more investigations in our area due to civilian pressure. But that doesn’t mean we can’t play with them.”

-

“Is there a problem?”

Kimura shrugged off the stranger’s grip. “No. We’re fine.”

Ippo’s eyes darted between the two, an uncomfortable energy settled in the room. Something left unsaid that permeated stilted interactions. Ippo didn’t probe Kimura with the injured stranger as their audience. If his friend wished to talk, then Kimura would reach out later on.

Ippo handed a bowl to the stranger that sat upright without their help. “Uh, I’m sorry about your shoes,” Ippo said, slightly embarrassed that Wanpo not only chewed on one which left indentations on the leather, but also the scratches etched onto the surface from being dragged on the asphalt.

“It’s no matter. I’m thankful for the assistance and the meal.” Ippo expected him to be crass and vulgar, a mirrored image of stereotypical portrayals depicted in media. His stiff, politeness detracted from his sharp intimidating posture, but it was no less awkward as they navigated from inquiring about the stab wound.

“Are you hungry Kimura?” Ippo asked. He gestured to a bowl.

“Not right now. If you can pack it in a container I’ll bring it home, if that’s alright?”

Ippo took notice of the subtle flinch when he mistakenly voiced his friend’s real name in front of the supposed yakuza member. He regretted it immediately and nodded to his friend as he shuffled back to the kitchen to prepare a thermos of the hot broth.

If Kimura’s soulmate wanted to find out about him it would be relatively easy. He wasn’t as famous as Ippo in the boxing world, but posters of himself and rivals were plastered in front of halls before their sanctioned fights. His family’s flower shop was easily accessible through web searches. The less he knew of his soulmate the easier it would be to forget him. Almost thirty years old, he had dreamed of this moment for more than a decade. He dated once in a while, but those relationships rarely satisfied what he was chasing after.

When Aoki met Tomiko, Kimura was simultaneously happy and moderately envious of his best friend. This wasn’t what he envisioned the encounter to be. He more or less never idealized the person, ascribed a gender, personality, or appearance of his soulmate, however he dwelled in countless fantasies of how they would meet.

In his youth he attended two conventions and shook hundreds of hands in a rush to find his soulmate. He blamed his profession as a florist (not as a boxer) that made him a romantic. He stopped attending the conventions and imagined a serendipitous encounter in daily life whether at the grocery store, strolling through the park, or in the middle of his roadwork around town. Aoki’s mark was highly visible that played a hand in finding his soulmate. Kimura’s white cosmos mark was situated on his right ankle, hidden by socks, boots, or trouser pants.

“You won’t give us trouble,” Kimura stated rather than asked.

The other gave pause. His cutlery sat at the rim of the bowl. A gruff roughness that initially was attractive squashed any underlying hopes when the stranger said, “I’ll be out of your hair and I’ve always liked cheerful women.”

 _This was for the best_ , Kimura thought. Though the comment stung at his pride. The stranger stood up and carried his bowl to the kitchen where the shorter male puttered around.

“Where are my clothes?”

A voice that definitely wasn’t Kimura startled Ippo. He flailed and almost dropped a pair of mugs that he was in the midst of transferring from the dry rack to the cupboard.

“They’re in the wash. If you wait a bit longer I can put them in the drier. I’m afraid I don’t have any clothing that would fit you.”

“No. That’s fine. Leave it, you won’t have to return it. I’ll be leaving now.”

Ippo readily nodded. Although he knew it may have been too early for the injured man to move about he didn’t wish to extend his stay longer than necessary.

Kimura emerged from the room a few minutes later. “He left?”

“Yeah, without the clothes that are in the wash. Are we-“

“We’ll be fine.” Kimura patted Ippo on the back. Although the stranger alluded to non-interaction in the future Kimura felt there were going to be strange incidents in the coming weeks.

-

“You’re looking worse for wear, Hi-ro-shi.”

“Shut it, Kazuya. Why the hell are you here anyways? I called Kojiro to pick me up.” The copper-haired member of the Daiichi slid into shotgun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got around to reading extra game and how could I not add Jabberwock to this fic?! They're only a subtle mention and this chapter focused mainly on Kimura. Ippo and Nash Gold Jr. will meet next chapter. :D


	3. Threes

Kimura arranged a bouquet of violet hydrangeas and white irises. Baby’s breath, tiny white budding flowers were interspersed around the bloomed petals, a common filler that was added to the vase resulted in fewer gaps between green leaves. The rest of his weekend went undisturbed. His first day back at the start of the weekdays, a black suv with tinted windows parked for several hours down the street. He didn’t even take notice of it at first. Shoppers frequently parked on the side street to pop into stores before driving off a half hour later. Every day he swept the entrance of their little shop and confirmed the appearance of the car usually in the late afternoon.

He didn’t have the nerve to tap on the glass to tell the person to leave. He never approached the car and couldn’t properly make out the features of the individual that sat in the front seat. The thought that it was his soulmate supervising his activities was upsetting. There was the possibility it wasn’t even the nameless copper-haired stranger, but some low-level brute petitioned to keep tabs on him. By Thursday, Kimura told Ippo the truth.

-

Coach Kamogawa returned with Yagi from their overseas trip on Sunday morning. They strolled in, jet lagged, however glad to return home. Coach thwacked his cane on the floor, agitated that in their absence the crew slacked off. After ten minutes of berating each and every one of them Yagi calmly described the opponents they managed to find for Aoki and Kimura. Both opponents hailed from Thailand and had background experience with kickboxing before they transitioned to pro boxing.

Takamura idly picked the wax from his ear. He was bored. Moving from Junior Middleweight to Middleweight made it easier to manage his intake of calories between fights. His win against David Eagle scared off his opponents for the time being, however the blond man became a nuisance more than anything.

The mild-mannered American had the nerve to visit his place of residence after the match. Punch drunk, weary, and mildly tipsy from that day’s celebration Takamura opened his apartment complex door to yell at the fool that bothered to knock at that obscene hour. The sealed cut from their match was an angry red across his brow, but apart from the one imperfection, David maintained the clean-cut air and restrained physique. He was dressed in casual clothing, a blue shirt and jeans.

Even in Takamura’s slightly inebriated state, David accompanied without his translator meant there wasn’t much to converse about.

Then those god awful words spilled from his mouth. An amateurish rendition of Japanese language heavily accented that the intonations were incorrect, but even he understood, “We’re soulmates.”

Idiot. If he weren’t so tired, he would have punched David across his jaw or temple instead he shut the door without another word. The man didn’t make a scene; didn’t bother knocking again that night. For the past two three weeks without fail the blond American knocked at his door. When Takamura ignored him, he left only to return the next night.

David never made an appearance at their gym nor did he stake out his place prior to the time Takamura arrived home from the gym. He was irritated that David hadn’t traveled back to America yet. Yagi held multiple folders. If they weren’t for him then they were invitational matches for Ippo. The runt didn’t pop in today so everyone suspected he worked on the fishing boat. Not many people were willing to get into the trade despite the fact that Japan possessed one of the largest fish markets in the world.

Takamura plucked the sheets from Yagi’s hands. While the man with glasses protested, Takamura lifted the papers outside of his reach and scanned through the invitations.

“Garbage, garbage, garbage. Reject all of these. Ah, Kawahara Gym sent a request. You haven’t accepted this already, old man?”

Their Coach flatly stated to them, “He isn’t ready.”

They knew the circumstances. Trying to cram in training sessions didn’t allow the body to rest, by the time the fight day was upon them, Ippo’s body would be at a serious disadvantage in the ring. He was already at one. The Coach knew and so did Takamura. Ippo’s weaknesses and strengths were from the Dempsey roll. An outboxer like Miyata would bide his time and emulate the rhythm in order to counter the move. The impact, if it ever happened in a real match would be a ticket straight to the hospital for fear of brain damage or possibly death.

“Old man. Don’t bother with Ippo. When are you lining up my next match?!” he asked brusquely. The papers were haphazardly returned to Yagi to which the older man huffed at the disjointed mess.

Takamura dodged a jab from Coach Kamogawa’s cane. The elderly, but lively man lectured his student, “Ungrateful brat! You just won a match less than a month ago. Get back to training.”

-

“Mamoru, you have a guest.” The gentle ring of Kyouka’s voice echoed from the entrance of his flat. He wondered why his sister spoke English then. He learned the language prior to leaving his old life that was surrounded by their family’s affluent business. Takamura glared down the hallway. Beside his older sister was Eagle. Poised in a beige pullover sweater and khaki pants, the angry scar that was still present didn’t detract from his appearance in the least.

“Do you have tea prepared?” she asked then turned to Eagle and motioned to the kotatsu in the living room. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please. Any sort of tea is fine and good evening Takamura.”

The open kitchen directly oversaw the living room. David sat facing them, his back blocked their view of the jabbering tv set. Takamura reigned in his anger. Although he wasn’t shy to show his contempt with his older brother, he wasn’t the so called “Lord of Perverts” that he portrayed with his friends at the gym when in the company of his sister or younger brother.

They talked. Well, mostly David and Kyouka. Takamura stewed over his meal while Kyouka grilled the blond man with a series of questions.

“I didn’t know you were friends.”

“We’re not quite. I was the –“

“Mamoru’s recent opponent. I watched the match. It was exciting.” Her eyes crinkled and she projected a small smile. However her kindness although genuine veiled her protective nature over her sibling. David was seen as kind and a good indication of sportsman-like behaviour. If Kyouka shooed the American away then it was all the better.

“Yes, it was. Takamura won the title too.” His exuberance rivaled the seriousness emitted from green eyes. Takamura clenched his fist underneath the kotatsu, didn’t the guy have any sense of pride? He wanted to knock down the intensity of that stare.

Kyouka hummed. Her immaculate nails tapped the wooden surface of the table.  “So you have things to discuss?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair Mamoru otherwise I won’t be able to catch the last train,” she stated and placed the teacup into the sink. She smiled once more and bowed her head to David. A cascade of brown hair slipped from behind her ear. “It was nice meeting you, Eagle.”

 _Traitor_. In general she was a good interpreter of character. Some subtle gesture or his answers swayed her in some way to trust the blond. _Don’t fall for the epitome of apple pie, sis_. Reflexively, he kissed his teeth.

Takamura followed her to the front door. She slipped on her black heels and over her shoulder she sent _the_ look that said behave. After she left, Takamura lumbered back into the living room. He was tired and honestly didn’t want to deal with this. He cleared his throat.

“You must be mistaken.”

“I can assure you that I’m not.”

-

On Wednesday Ippo finished work rather early. They traversed all the notable fishing spots mentioned in his mother’s journal. They spent hours in the sun without much to show for their effort. The fish weren’t biting so they cut their excursion short. Anxious to do something constructive with his free time his legs automatically headed for Kamogawa Gym. A block from the location Ippo halted at the intersection. He hadn’t reached a resolution yet. His mother would be released from the hospital soon, but he didn’t want to be trapped in a cycle where she would have to return in poor health.

His feet carried him towards the city center instead. He couldn’t face Takamura without any conviction. He wandered aimlessly through the crowded streets towards the embankment, where the river cut through the rolling valley. Ippo spotted the tree that started his career; where Takamura challenged him to catch the falling leaves with quick left jabs. He basked in the shade from the overhanging branches. By the time night overtook the sky Ippo made his way home. He counted the coolers twice only to confirm that one was missing. He must have accidentally left the last one on the boat. It was unlikely that someone would just take it under the cover of night. Rarely anyone besides fishermen visited this small strip of dock. It wasn’t as busy as the larger ports that accepted cargo freights.

He couldn’t remember if the last cooler was cleaned. He was not willing to take a gamble on having fewer ones for tomorrow’s excursion so he headed towards the dock.  A sleek, black car that stood out amongst the cheaper models usually found in this area parked on the cul-de-sac. Someone was roaming around the area.

As he approached where his boat was located he heard voices and the accompaniment of footsteps where the weight placed on each step caused the wood to creak.

“I got rid of it, sir.”

Nope. Ippo had enough self-preservation not to linger. Whatever the person disposed of into the depths of the ocean was not his problem, especially considering the encounter with the injured stranger.  A hand on his shoulder pushed him into the ground. Ippo floundered, his arms braced behind his back, the person’s hands clenched tightly around his wrists.

“Jason look at what we have here. A little mouse,” said a deep voice in English. Footsteps closed in. A leisurely pace that only served to intensify Ippo’s awareness of his own body. Locked muscles, a bead of sweat slid by the nape of his neck, while the pulsed pain of scrapped knees and possibly his elbow reminded him that this was very real. Although his arms were braced together, Ippo bucked upwards in an attempt to break free. His legs kicked blindly. His heart thrummed in his ears. His heel hit a limb that wasn’t his own.

“Shit!”

Ippo wriggled free in the moment the man let down his guard. He ran without looking back, past the warehouses, the cars, down the street back home. Ippo’s hand shook, imprecisely and it took four attempts to slot the key into the lock. Once inside, he hastily shut the door and flipped all the locks. Any windows that were cracked open were closed and the curtains pulled shut. Wanpo trailed after him as Ippo curled into the blankets. His knees were tucked close to his chest in an attempt to figuratively shrink and disappear. He couldn’t stop shaking due to the adrenaline.

What he didn’t see was the man had reached into his coat at the docks. The other individual, supposedly named Jason pulled him back.

“Don’t.”

“We can’t let’em get away. He saw our faces.”

“Yeah, and I saw his. He’s Japan’s featherweight boxing champion. If he disappears the media will be all over it. We’ll just have to let Nash know.”

“Fuck, since when did you get soft?”

The other man didn’t anticipate the sharp smash of Jason’s fist that broke his nose. A sharp crunch followed by a wail of cursing streamed from the other man’s lips.

“Say it again, why don’t you. Maybe a little louder?”

The man clutched his face, blood dripped onto the sleeves of his coat. His eyes looked away, a reinforcement of Jason’s power within Jabberwock’s hierarchy. But that didn’t stop him from clenching his teeth in the end.

Ippo stayed awake all night. He listened to every moan and creak of the house as his mind anticipated wild, nightmare scenarios of the men barging into his home. They however never followed. Once night bled into morning, Ippo contacted his fellow fishermen to notify that his boat would be out of commission for a few days. It was unlikely that those men would visit during broad daylight, but by the time they docked and Ippo cleaned the boat and moved the coolers back home it would be approximately the late afternoon. Ample time for them to set up some sort of interaction.

The ring of his cellphone drew his attention. A call from Kimura early in the morning that he immediately answered.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Glad I caught you before you went to work. Could you drop by the flower shop today? If you don’t get off work until the late afternoon just go to my place.”

“I actually don’t have work today. I can visit the shop right now.”

“Sure, yeah of course. Did something happen?”

“Sort of. I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Wanpo tagged along and because they headed towards the busier parts of the city, Ippo latched a leash to Wanpo’s collar. Kimura’s flower shop was nestled between a café and a locksmith. A fixture of hanging flowered plants enticed window shoppers from the outside. Huge window panes allowed a passerby to peer into the shop, where neatly grouped floral arrangements were organized by type rather than colour.

Ippo tied Wanpo’s leash to a concrete divider that separated the street from the sidewalk. His dog yipped, however sat down all the same. Despite being a relatively polite dog, Wanpo’s large frame and curious nature often led him into trouble. It would be a shame if Wanpo knocked over any potted plants even if by accident.

Ippo entered the quaint store. A chime of a bell alerted Kimura to pop out from the back inventory. “Ippo! You got here quick. Ma, can you take care of the front end of the store for a bit?”

He waved Ippo to get behind the counter to which Ippo followed. The room was small, a garage door on the far end was for unloading inventory. A stack of fertilizer was pushed to the corner, a table and set of chairs for their breaks was adjacent to the door.

“Did that guy come here?” Ippo tilted his head. He tried to decipher the pensive lines on his friend’s face.

Kimura pulled back a chair and sat with his legs sprawled around the support. His arms crossed on top of the wood. “No, he hasn’t, but that’s not what I wanted to say.”

Kimura sighed and Ippo patiently waited for him to continue.

“That guy – the one you bandaged up. He’s my soulmate and I don’t know if it’s him or some other lackey of his, but there’s a black car that’s always parked down the street for hours. No one gets out of the car. And I know for a fact that I’m not just paranoid because it was never there before this week.”

Ippo heard the fluctuation of emotion. How Kimura’s fingers tightened around the fabric of his long sleeve shirt displayed his distress and a heavy weight sunk to the pit of Ippo’s stomach. The guilt must have shown on his face because Kimura awkwardly laughed.

“It’s not your fault ya know. I almost couldn’t believe it either, but he has my mark. But I know the type, you can’t convince them to leave that life unless they want to. Look at what happened to me and Aoki. We were reckless hooligans until Takamura showed up, but even then if we didn’t believe that we could do something else with ourselves – I don’t know. I don’t like thinking about it. Right now I might have been in jail or worse.”

“So you’re not ever going to meet with him again?” Ippo asked. He shifted his weight across the seat of the chair in order to lean forward.

“No. I’m not looking for trouble. People can live fulfilling lives without their soulmate. I’m happy with my life now, having him there – I don’t think it would be better. Sometimes you hear on the news real tragic shit. People being murdered by their soulmates and kidnappings.”

“It doesn’t always work out then?”

Kimura shrugged. “Yeah. The world’s cruel. Whatever made it think I’m the most compatible with him? I don’t want to be dragged back into that world.”

Ippo wanted to spill everything about what happened yesterday night. He faltered. The words never left his lips because this was Kimura’s moment. And if the outboxer told Ippo first, before his best-friend Aoki then there was a reason besides being the one to help the injured stranger that made Kimura choose Ippo to be his confidant.

Kimura stood up and dusted off his apron. He wrapped Ippo into a hug and said, “Thanks, man.” The taller man ruffled Ippo’s already unruly hair. “And don’t let what Takamura said get to you. The Coach will accept you back when you’re ready.”

Before he left the store he made sure to greet Kimura’s mother. She paused the arrangement of a red tulip bouquet. “Ippo! Looks like Wanpo has a new friend,” She pointed to the street. Wanpo practically jumped on top of a crouched blond passerby, although he appeared to be unperturbed and proceeded to indulge the canine with affectionate coddling.

They must have spoken for longer than Ippo thought. Wanpo was obedient up to a point, however without any external stimulation or attention he often got restless.

“Ah, I should deal with that.”

“Don’t be a stranger! You should have dinner at our place sometime.”

“Mom you’re going to freak Ippo out. See ya, man.”

Ippo gave a last hopeful wave before he exited the flower shop.

The man could very well be some celebrity or model. An attractive man despite only wearing a plain black shirt and jeans. A black inked tattoo, all of which Ippo could only understand as abstract curved lines that blended and hid behind the collar of his shirt. To most it was understood that inked skin were aligned with the yakuza. He supposed that the influx of visitors partly dispelled the idea. It was becoming more acceptable to have tattoos as a fashion statement or as an expression of identity rather than affiliation.

“Wanpo! Behave. I’m sorry about this. He doesn’t know his own strength.” Ippo gestured for Wanpo to sit. The taller individual swept a hand through his blond hair the edge of a mischievous smirk alerted Ippo to trouble, although when the Lord of Perverts managed to eke out the same shiver it was proceeded by an unattractive shit-eating grin.

The man stood up. At the extent of his height, Ippo barely met his chest. And while he busied himself with untying Wanpo’s leash from the concrete stand the man took initiative and proposed a venture that caught him off-guard.

“You can make it up to me. Why not have a coffee with me, sometime?” He extended a hand that brushed Ippo’s forearm. It was simultaneously an electric shock throughout his body and just an overwhelming, jarring awareness. Tears pricked the corner of Ippo’s eyes. There was so much going on. His mother’s waning health, boxing, the family business, the yakuza stranger and now this?

Ippo choked. A collection of saliva accumulated in his mouth. He couldn’t really stop it even if he wanted to. He puked the contents of his breakfast all over the man’s suede shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. I got carried away with Kimura and now Takamura so Nash Gold only got a little scene at the end.


	4. Steps

“Seto, fuck, wake up! I’m taking pictures to show Makoto. Some guy hurled all over that fucker Jabberwock’s shoes. This is perfect.”

A lazy and bleary eyed Seto rustled from his daily nap. He grimaced at his partner. The hyperactive Hara was his least favourite member to do stakeouts with. Seto managed to grumble his misgivings, “Moron. Don’t just take pictures of our enemy. The shorter one is more important. I haven’t seen him before and the way he’s acting –“

Hara’s bubbly laughter interrupted his train of thought. The incessant clicking and simulated shutter of each snapped picture really showed how careless he was. They had the benefit of distance, but then again Hara was the worst at maintaining a low profile.

“It must be painful playing the gentleman. Could you imagine the Boss sucking up to some schmuck?”

Hara snapped a few more pictures for good measure and promptly began sending the images over to Makoto. While Hara was preoccupied with doing that, Seto observed more closely. The blond, charismatic leader was rumoured to be as equally uncouth in the presence of people he deemed wasn’t worth his time. Although business matters were usually behind closed doors, it was true that the Jabberwock were involved in several public incidents in the past three weeks. Two fights in one of Akiba’s crowded clubs were enough to draw The Daiichi’s attention. The strip was a hot bed for tourists with a busy night life. Economic prospects were tied to a visitor’s perception of safety in the area so most knew not to interfere with profits with petty physical brawls.

Seto leaned forward. His fingers tapped an aimless rhythm on the dashboard. He pieced together the scene. The missed portions were easily inferred. Nash’s expressions were hidden by the broadness of his back, however the other man was a barometer for the words exchanged between them. There was no outburst, no yelling. Nash didn’t brush them aside or threaten him with extortion.

There was a moment of hesitation or was it shock? A gentle touch where Nash’s hand rubbed the shorter man’s back. The shopkeepers of the flower shop they were told to monitor coddled the ill man. The familiarity suggested more than acquaintances. No. They were all at least linked to the recuperating, shorter man.

The shopkeeper’s son brought a hose from the side of the building to wash the sidewalk. The elderly woman patted a handkerchief along the man’s mouth and chin. They spoke to each other for a few minutes. Their new person of interest was silent throughout the endeavor. A small shake of his head and somehow they reached a tenuous agreement.

One last reassurance from the woman cemented the decision. Nash guided the other to a silver car, nothing flashy or new about the model. He pulled the back door so the large dog could hop inside. The ill individual rounded the passenger side. Plain and forgettable. Common clothes and nothing noteworthy that made him stand out in a crowd. There weren’t salacious rumours which concerned Nash Gold Jr.’s sexual escapades. It was quite tightly under wraps. He could be seen with gaggles of gorgeous women in night clubs, but Seto began to arrive at the decision that it was all for show.

“Make sure you snap a picture of the license plate.”

“We’re not following them?”

“Those weren’t our orders,” said Seto as he adjusted his seat and leaned backwards. “Let me know when something else happens.” Seto smoothed his hair back. An arm settled over his eyes to aid in his second nap of the day.

“God, you suck the fun out of everything.”

-

Ippo wanted to curl into a blanket to hide from his obligations. He was mildly embarrassed that he threw up on someone – namely a stranger that he was intangibly connected to. The soothing large hand that rubbed his back in front of Kimura’s shop was something Ippo was more embarrassed about. It shocked him that he was previously unaware at how needy he was for affection. If Kimura and his mother hadn’t stumbled outside to comfort him, he knew his hands would instinctively sought to pull the blond closer.

Ippo leaned against the door. His eyes watched the other cars and houses pass by like a movie reel. They were close.

“You can drop us off here.”

“Is your place nearby?”

“Yeah, I just need to pick up some groceries first.”

Nash turned into the parking lot. He chose the nearest open space they could find. He killed the engine and tapped on the steering wheel. His other hand unlocked the car doors.

“If that’s the case, I can help. The nice old lady was kind enough to hose down my shoes so they’re a bit wet but I’ve got plenty of others in the same style.”

Ippo turned to Nash. He nervously scratched the back of his neck as he spoke, “That’s asking too much. I appreciate that you drove us here. I apologize about getting sick all over your shoes.” He trailed off for a moment to probe if the other wanted to respond. For a second Nash’s brow furrowed as if he were going to argue, but thought against it in the end. He leaned over the dashboard to open the small compartment on Ippo’s side. A mess of receipts, a pair of sunglasses, and envelopes. Nash ripped a scrap of paper and fetched a pen from the same compartment.

“My number. Drop me a line if you ever decide that you want to take up my offer and have coffee.” The interaction was brief and Ippo secretly hoped that it would be prolonged on Nash’s behalf. He shuffled out of the car with Wanpo at his heel. He waved as the other hand clenched the paper with Nash’s number.

“Sorry bud. Can you wait out here for a bit? We need some eggs and I’ll snag some dog treats.”

-

He downed a glass of brandy in his study. The ice clinked together when he swirled the contents with a rotation of his wrist. Makoto swiped back and forth through the album of pictures Hara sent with obnoxious captions to accompany every photo. Hara might not have known about him, but Makoto knew a bit about boxing. On occasion he made bets in various sports just for the sake of entertaining guests and possible networks. Makunouchi Ippo, Japan’s featherweight champion.

From the photos he concluded that there was a strange aura of intimacy and at the same time distance. Kindness that Nash Gold Jr. wouldn’t show to just anyone even if it was an act. It would be risky to approach Makunouchi. An ardent smile reached the corner of his lips. He was curious. He wanted to know why a humble champion was involved with such a sleazy group. If the reasons were scandalous it would just be another spigot of information he’d carefully card in the recesses of his mind to be of some use later on.


	5. Club

Nash wasn’t much of a planner. He left scheduling to an assistant and even then he trusted his gut more than creating complex plans to overcome an obstacle. If low level politicians weren’t charmed by his personality the threat of bodily harm was usually enough to silence them. These days the yakuza were all about ruining people financially. If killing could be avoided that was considered a plus. Someone that could puppet their views were an asset to control portions of the government and to some extent leverage the police force to turn a blind eye from their group’s wrongdoings. This of course had its own disadvantages. People could be coerced into being pawns however they were also liabilities, loose ends that could unravel segments of their social hierarchy.

But Nash possessed an explosive temper that rivaled his sense of pride. A fuse that made lesser individuals flinch in fear from a cursory glance. His smile while not carefully crafted was easy to assume. People wanted to believe him. They held an unintentional amount of trust and good standing based on his appearance alone.

The plan was simple at best. Jason explained the situation. A civilian caught wind of their illegal activities at the wharf. Jason expected much worse than what actually occurred.

“Why are we having this conversation, Jason? If you got rid of him properly then there’s nothing to worry about,” unimpressed knitted eyebrows supplemented Nash’s urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And that means you didn’t.”

Jason was taken aback by their leader’s tepid response to a possible loose-end. He expected yelling, an outburst of violence on the knickknacks that littered his office. Nash continued to examine reports, a necessary aspect of their illegal line of work that Nash usually ignored until the last minute or made an excuse to off-load the work to his assistant.

Jason rubbed his jaw. His bruised knuckles from punching his associate were no longer in bandages. “We can’t get rid of him, at least not without shit hitting the fan.”

“Well you must have your reasons. I have a hard time believing you willingly let go of someone by mistake.”

Jason didn’t know what to do with his hands. The open seat across from Nash’s desk didn’t look at all inviting, however at the same time standing next to the door made it evident that he was nervous.

“It was Makunouchi Ippo, boss.”

“And he is important because?”

Jason cleared his throat and said, “An athlete, currently holding a championship belt and well, I’m a fan.”

Nash almost snorted, but the sound was more aligned to a huff. “Pay him off or scare him into silence then.” Met with an uncomfortable silence, Nash dropped the papers at corner of his desk. Jason hovered close to the door as if he was ready to bolt out of there in hopes of escaping Nash’s callous stare.

“If you won’t deal with this mess then I suppose I’ll take him on.”  

The absence of Makunouchi would attract police involvement in a missing person’s case or if he had the gall to notify the authorities of blackmail. A high profile case like that would eventually make business harder to skirt around the law without hefty bribes and social engineering. Not to mention the prominence of The Daiichi panting at their heels – a group that demanded to be squashed underneath his feet. A humble and saintly guy like Makunouchi needed a vice. It didn’t have to be true it just needed to be believable. If the public and news outlets ate up some manufactured story then Makunouchi could disappear without much fuss.

It was almost sickening trailing the man with a kind disposition. Besides his boxing career, all they dug up was boring information. The only fact that he pieced together was the waning fishing industry might be a financial pressure that Nash could leverage if the Makunouchi’s were low on cash. Loan sharking didn’t conjure enough imagined danger. It would garner public sympathies at best. It needed to be unexpected, a dark machination that out rightly made citizens question his character when they heard the news. The thought alone sent shivers along Nash’s spine. He needed some form of entertainment after all.

He waited until Makunouchi visited some dinky little flower shop. His canine companion sniffed around the post. The tethered leash was pulled taut in a spiral. When he strolled closer the mutt was more concerned about unscrambling from the tight hold of its leash that circled the post. Helping out would ensure a positive meeting with Makunouchi.

When the boxing champ brushed him. It took several seconds to register that Makunouchi did in fact throw up all over his designer shoes. Such an act of disrespect directed from most people would result in them tasting concrete.

He believed it though. A man that chased hedonistic pleasures saw truth in physicality. A tingling sensation like pinpricks darted up his arms. The crowned mark embellished by a swath of black ink ached above his heart. There didn’t need to be an exchange of words. Nash already made up his mind. Someone as possessive and jealous as he was wouldn’t let his soulmate go so easily.

-

Ippo entered Nash’s contact information into his phone. It was there for almost a week. He convinced himself that he was too busy. It was partly true, his mother was released from the hospital during that time. Ippo could finally relax a little bit. Her return brought some sense of normalcy to his life. He continued to assist his mother with the family business since he was apprehensive about the strange men that loitered the wharf a while ago. They never reappeared after the incident, but Ippo failed to mention the fact to his mother.

They hauled the last of the coolers indoors. His mother had a routine. She rested while she ate dinner. A bath to wash off the grime and stench of fish guts followed by a bit of reading before bed. She yelled from the kitchen, “Ippo your cell is ringing.” The small phone vibrated on the living room table.

“Kimura? What’s up?”

“Ippo! It’s Aoki –“

“Sorry, can you repeat that I can hardly hear you. The – what is that? Loud music?”

“Kimura’s been down in the dumps lately so I dragged him to Club Saki,” The blaring noise dissipated in the background. “Is this better? Anyways, Club Saki, there’s another called Kiri but it’s on the other side of town. Kimura’s in the bathroom, but Ippo do you know what’s going on? Man, I also haven’t seen you in the gym lately. Why don’t you come down too?”

“Eh, Aoki I’m not much of a dancer and I only drink during celebrations.”

“Ippo! Come on, man.” The dragged syllables of his name echoed from the receiver. “Our boy has been nursing the same drink for over an hour. He even has this kicked puppy dog look.”

“Okay, okay I’ll come. Just so he gets home safely. Uh, but first I need to take a shower.”

-

The place was crowded if the line outside the club indicated anything. Women and men dressed in their best, fun, flirty outfits. The bouncers were stern masses of muscle, bound in black security shirts. Even outside the building Ippo heard the reverberation of the music heavy bass. Another thirty minutes, Ippo reached the front of the line. A show of his id garnered more attention than he would have liked.

“Ho-ly shit, I’m a fan, man.” The instant change in demeanour from a stone-faced frown to a bubbly barrel of smiles were a rare and strange event. Ippo shook the man’s offered hand. The people behind him that overheard the brief interaction probably didn’t know who he was until the interjection. A few more minutes were reluctantly spent shaking hands and taking pictures. When he finally entered the club, he was reminded as to why he never enjoyed the scene.

Strobe lights rotated in the dim room. A wide dancefloor filled with dancing people flourished on the new track. On the outskirts were seated areas, tables, and stools that lined a bar on the other end of the hall. In the back there was another area gated with a pair of bouncers to block off the staircase that led to the VIP section.  

He found Tomiko first. At the bar ordering more drinks for the table. She greeted Ippo with a warm hug. She remembered to slide a tip to the bartender while Ippo carried the drinks. Kimura was huddled in the corner still nursing his first drink. Aoki did his best to ignite some sort of excitement from his best friend.

Aoki roped Ippo away from the table although the music provided ample privacy. There was relatively no fear of being overheard on the dancefloor.

“I think Kimura doesn’t want to tell me what’s really eating him. Since we’re hella close – it’s like, I don’t know not wanting to share your vulnerable side or some crap to the people closest to you. You don’t even have to tell me what he says. I hate seeing him in a funk, especially so close to our next match.”

Aoki and Tomiko disappeared into the sea of dancers. He knew that Kimura didn’t want to be coddled. A nightclub was not exactly the type of place to have any heartfelt discussions either. So he took a seat adjacent to Kimura in the booth. If his friend wanted to share any insight the ball was in his court. Ippo drank some soda, the only non-alcoholic beverage at the table which he was thankful that Tomiko remembered his aversion to drinking in general.

Kimura pushed his drink back to the center of the table. His elbows were stable on the glass surface. He said, “I saw him.”

The DJ changed up the latest track from racing beats to a slow jam. People on the dancefloor, if they weren’t already they tried to pair off in a fluid, sensual dance with a partner.

“Who?”

“The guy we helped. He’s here,” Kimura turned to face Ippo. A subtle motion of his gaze towards the balcony VIP section pulled Ippo’s attention and it was true. The man this time dressed in a black button down shirt leaned with his arms crossed on the glass partition. Ippo almost didn’t recognize him, except his orange-reddish hair was rare around these parts and this time was slicked back with wax.

“Oh, he’s staring right at us.” Ippo faced Kimura once more, a nervous bite of his lip proceeded his concerned statement, “Should we be worried?”

A shrug of Kimura’s shoulders suggested he didn’t know but was otherwise not vexed by the yakuza’s presence.

“Earlier a waitress dropped off some drinks, said they were from a fan. Aoki doesn’t know about this mess so of course he accepted free drinks. But I can guess they’re from him.”

“Well, that’s good or not good? I can tell Aoki not to worry then?”

Kimura folded his arms. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, then –“

 Hands covered Ippo’s eyes. Someone tall enough to tower over the booth. Their face was close to his left ear from the brush of their hair and warmth of their breath on his skin. 

“Guess who?”

“Nash?” Their hands, a mix of roughness judging by the few callouses and the softness of their palms withdrew. Instead of taking a seat opposite to them, Nash slid beside Ippo. A brief exchange of introductions between Kimura and the blond was plenty of time for Ippo to wrap his head around the dressed down suit. A flashy dark amber jacket over a solid, monochrome white shirt and dark slacks. His soulmate knew how to draw people’s attention.

A stumbled apology parted from Ippo. The lack of communication was unfair, when he didn’t give his number to Nash in return. An arm slung casually over the top of the booth, although not directly around his shoulders. His torso and thighs, however were pressed against him and that blinding smile riled up a blush that was thankfully hidden by the dim lights.

“No worries. My friend is currently chatting up one of the bartenders and on the way in one of the bouncers mentioned you,” Nash said with an offered hand in Ippo’s direction. “May I ask for a dance? We can re-schedule our coffee date.”

Not terribly confident Ippo was inclined to refuse. He wasn’t as proficient as outboxers like Kimura with their footwork, but Ippo did not know what to do with his body, more or less what to do with his hands while dancing.

Kimura happened to answer for him, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine here. It was nice meeting you, Nash. Take care of him, will you?”

Kimura stole a glance at the balcony. His soulmate wasn’t there. He laughed at his flustered underclassman being beckoned to the dancefloor.


	6. Boundaries

“The fuck. Tell me that I’m not dreaming right now, who let that bastard in?” Hiroshi practically growled under his breath. Hara pressed his face against the one-way glass of the office that overlooked the club’s inhabitants below. A mesh of lights that flashed in timed intervals in an otherwise dim setting made it incredibly difficult to pinpoint a person, even with an ample description. 

“Who am I supposed to be looking for exactly that has you all hot and bothered Hiro?” 

Unamused by the lilted teasing that was expected from Hara, the irritated man shuffled closer to the nearest available seat. 

“Nash is here, boss.” 

Eyes darted across the crowd. Gaudy suit and all, Hara didn’t bother to contain a fit of laughter as he said, “You’re right, wow and he’s getting friendly with that cutie at the flower shop.” 

Hara cupped his hands around his eyes, which splayed his lavender locks in a comical manner. The makeshift binoculars peered in the direction of the opposing faction's boss. Hara could hardly contain his excitement. His voice exuded the will to initiate an encounter, maybe he was already planning something. A not so subtle swipe of his tongue across the right side of his lip proceeded his request, "We can say 'hello' to our dear friends!" 

Kojiro reigned the flamboyant and in equal parts rather childish, Hara by the nape of his neck. "You're going to give the boss a headache." 

Hiroshi was furious. "They know what they're doing. They know this is our territory – just stepping foot into this place is a provocation." Hiroshi separated the two and stated, "as much as I never like siding with this dumb ass, I agree for once. We can't sit idly." Hiroshi audibly faltered, his fury morphed into an impassive expression that Seto noted however did not comment on. 

Kojiro murmured, "The patrons at the club must not be aware that something is amiss. They come here for leisure and to forget whatever stressors are occupying their lives. Adding any obvious criminal activity would not be good for business – but you know that very well Hiroshi." 

Itsuki poured a glass of whiskey and handed the drink to their boss. Makoto accepted the offer however did not take a sip. Makoto shrugged and said, "Just leave them be, quite frankly I don't even want Nash to know that I'm in the building." The excel sheets he was looking over was forgotten. He shut the laptop closed and observed the crowd below. 

"Are you sure we can't say hi?" The mirth behind Hara's unseemly grin failed to hide his true intentions. 

"I'm very sure." 

Whatever that meant besides the veiled threat of punishment for insubordination was left to interpretation. Itsuki adjusted his tie. Whatever Makoto wanted would be done and if that meant not antagonizing their unwelcome guests then he didn't have a problem with that. The flash of Hara's smirk and Hiroshi's clenched jaw were signs that they disagreed. If anything, Hara was going to skirt around the rules. 

\- 

He silently thanked the DJ for switching tracks as they stepped onto the dancefloor to something more upbeat. He figured the night couldn't get any more embarrassing. He couldn't blame his oddball dance moves on liquid courage when he had soda earlier. Although Nash wasn't perturbed as Ippo waved his arms, swayed and stomped to the beat. By the third song Ippo tried to imitate Nash's natural charm. Not once did the taller man get too close. 

They eased into a comfortable beat when the mood changed again. The strobe lights languidly dragged across the crowd. A couple adjacent to them stumbled against the Ippo. His stability didn't fall with them. He helped them get to their feet. The woman grasped his calloused hands in a thankful gesture. The man clapped him on the back too before they ventured off the dancefloor. When he returned his attention to his dance partner, Nash curled an arm around the shorter man's waist. Nash leaned closer and under the swing of the lights, the blond's smoldering green-eyed gaze met Ippo's. A glib smile caused the boxer to catch his breath. Of course, Ippo knew and accepted that his soulmate was attractive, but in that fleeting moment Ippo was ensnared by Nash's grace. The heavy bass rocked through the sea of people. The percussion matched the rapid beat of his heart. His eyes flitted down from those piercing eyes to Nash's lips. With Nash leaning down their height difference wasn't much of an obstacle. The blond's head turned in order to speak closer to Ippo's ear. A glint of metal reflected through the strands of straw coloured hair. He never noticed until now that Nash had double sided piercings. 

Ippo pressed a hand to Nash's pectoral while the other gripped his soulmate's forearm to get the correct angle for a chaste kiss on Nash's cheek. Soft laughter bubbled to the surface. Ippo _wanted_. He yearned. If he remained noncommittal in his (not-yet existent) love life and in boxing would he lose both of them? God, he really wanted this. 

"Yeah, you know what. I'm free tomorrow evening maybe instead of coffee, let's get dinner." 

\- 

Kimura finished the last of his drink. Aoki and Tomiko never returned. He assumed they left if they weren't still on the dancefloor. Left alone to mope, he supposed it was also a good time to head home. Instead of scouring through the club for Ippo while his underclassman was busy being swept off his feet by the flashy blond, Kimura forwarded a text. 

**Kimura:** Going to head off. Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. 

He adjusted his jacket and double-checked that he wasn't forgetting anything. He patted his jeans to make sure in his pockets still had his house keys and wallet. 

Outside the club the wind had picked up. A few stragglers smoked outside the premise. One individual asked a woman if they could bum a smoke. She seemed reluctant at first but the presence of the bouncers nearby probably settled her nerves. She passed a cigarette to the stranger. 

Kimura felt a bit peckish. He knew of a ramen place that was cheap and open late on his route home. It was a small restaurant that only seated four customers at the counter. Kimura was a regular and familiar with the owner. When he entered the establishment, two salarymen bumbled past the door. Their grey blazer sleeves pushed up to their elbows, their button down shirts were untucked, and ties loose. They smelled lightly of alcohol and probably on their way to the station. 

The chef greeted Kimura. "The usual?" 

Kimura took the seat furthest from the door. "Not today. I'm feeling like shoyu ramen, make the noodles a bit firm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been maybe a little more than a year since I have updated. I cannot promise any regular updates but it won't take that long again.


End file.
